All the Hurt and Betrayal
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Jean is devastated by Lucien's missteps, and she confides in the one person who will understand.


**All the Hurt and Betrayal**

The ring of the doorbell caused Jean to quickly wipe the tears from her face and rush to answer the front door. It was probably a patient she'd forgotten to reschedule or a friend she needed to find a socially acceptable excuse to turn them away.

But the visitor was not unwelcome at all. Unexpected, but more than welcome. Jean gasped in surprise. "Mattie!"

The young woman beamed happily. "Hello, Jean," she greeted.

Jean pulled her into a tight embrace and couldn't help the tears that flowed anew. "I'm so glad you're here!" she sobbed into Mattie's shoulder.

Mattie was surprised at such a display of emotion. She'd only seen Jean cry on a handful of occasions, and it was never a trivial matter. This had to be more than her impromptu visit. She ushered Jean inside and closed the front door before they made their way to the kitchen. Mattie sat Jean at the table and went over to put the kettle on for some tea. "Jean, what's wrong?"

Jean did her best to wipe her tears away again. "Oh I seem to do nothing but cry these days. I'm sorry. What are you doing here? This is such a wonderful surprise!"

Accepting the obvious deflection, Mattie told her, "I got word that my mother was quite ill. I would have written I was coming, but I left London as soon as my father's letter arrived. He made it sound quite serious. And it was. She had pneumonia, and she's never had the strongest constitution. But the doctors in Melbourne did a wonderful job, and she's well on the way to recovery. She's due to be released home tomorrow, actually. So I thought I would come by and see you and Lucien and Charlie, since I have no idea when I'll be back in Australia after I go back to London next week."

Jean's heart was in her throat. "I suppose you do need to go back. Your letters make London sound so wonderful. I cannot believe we missed you when we were there on our honeymoon!"

"I know! The one time you and Lucien come to see me, I'm stuck in quarantine for a week with tuberculosis patients!"

Jean gave Mattie's hand a squeeze where it sat on the kitchen table. "You're here now. I'm so glad."

Mattie could tell all was not right. The house felt different. Off, somehow. "Jean, what's wrong?" she asked again. "I know something's the matter."

With a strained smile, Jean told her, "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with just me on this visit. Charlie is a detective in Melbourne. I bet you can see him there before you leave the country. And Lucien isn't here at the moment."

"I can wait for him to get home later. I know he keep strange hours. I suppose that's carried over into your marriage, hmm? By the way, I know I already told you, but I love those wedding pictures you sent. I hate that I couldn't be there. You looked gorgeous, and I've never seen Lucien so happy."

Jean was sure she would be sick. She pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from audibly sobbing. It didn't prevent more tears from falling.

Now Mattie was properly worried. "Jean, where is Lucien?" she asked slowly.

"I don't know!" she wept. "I threw him out, and I don't know where he went."

"You threw him out!? Why?!"

The kettle whistled, and Jean instantly stood to get it. She took a few shaky breaths before she returned to the table with the tea things. And for the first time, she spoke about the events out loud. "He solved a big case last week. And instead of coming home after, some of the lads at the station took him out for a drink. A lot of drinks, it turned into."

"And he didn't call to say he'd be late, so you tossed him out?"

Jean gave her a glare. "Mattie," she said warningly.

"Sorry. Of course not. What happened?"

"Apparently, Lucien thought it was a fine idea to go into the details—explicit details—of our…marital bed."

Mattie snorted, "He told the boys about your love life? Jean, I think that's just something that men do."

"I don't think it's something men typically do when it's describing what I taste like and mimicking the noises I make and telling the entire pub the things I like in bed!" Jean felt like she was going to be sick. Her voice cracked with emotion and her stomach tied in knots. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and added, "And I especially don't think it's something men typically do to laugh when a constable I've barely spoken to asks me in the middle of the police station if I'm bringing supper for my husband to thank him for taking me on the floor in front of the fireplace 'just how I like,' were the exact words he used."

And then Mattie understood. Lucien, drunk or not, had so intricately described the intimate details of their married life to a room of strangers that they had teased Jean about it in public. Jean had always been a private, proper person. And she was a lady, through and through. She lived her life supporting and protecting others. And her own husband had torn down her reputation and even her own self-worth. How Jean would be able to hold her head up in the street again boggled Mattie's mind. And to think, Lucien had laughed. "You were right to throw him out," Mattie replied quietly, reaching out and squeezing Jean's hand again.

Jean let out a cynical, harsh chuckle. "That wasn't when I threw him out. It was after. I confronted him about it later, asking him what he'd done, how those men knew those things. And he told me he'd never said anything. That the boys were exaggerating. That it didn't matter."

"How could he possibly think it wouldn't matter? Didn't he see you were upset? And even so, how could he think it wouldn't hurt you?" Mattie asked angrily.

Jean nodded. "That was when I threw him out. I told him that if he couldn't see what a terrible thing he'd done, I couldn't bear living with him. He tried to tell me that they were all drunk, so it excusable. So I told him I didn't want to see his face again if he weren't apologizing and trying to make it right. Not that he can make it right. What's done is done. We can't just erase everyone's memory of what he told them. He has ruined me! And he was supposed to love me." That last sentence came out in a sob.

Mattie pulled her chair closer to Jean and held her tight. "I'm so sorry, Jean. I wish I could say that I can't believe he did that, but I do believe he did that. Lucien is unpredictable when he drinks that much, and he's always been a bit reckless with people. You deserve so much better."

"I thought so, too," Jean replied, trying to stop crying. There had been far too much crying over that man.

"What's going to happen?" Mattie asked tentatively, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"He'll come home eventually. He has to. I didn't let him pack a bag. And he's got patients he won't just abandon."

Mattie asked the most important question so quiet, she could barely hear her own voice. "Jean, do you even want him to come home?"

Jean looked up with the saddest smile. "I love him. I knew what I was getting. All the wonderful good that he is, and all of the unfortunate and disappointing bad. I don't know if I can ever forgive him, but he's my husband. And we'll find our way back together. It'll take time, but I know we'll eventually be alright. Somehow."


End file.
